


Solace

by LawrVert



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Force Ghosts, Ghost Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrVert/pseuds/LawrVert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan is visited in his exile by his old Master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this pairing and first time writing nsfw. Please read and review. Thank you to eriathalia for beta reading!

Obi-Wan Kenobi sits in the small hut, barely more than a hovel, and tries to meditate through a crippling weariness. His body is still aching and bruised from his duel with Anakin and he has not eaten or slept since arriving here days ago. Staring at the bare mud walls while a sandstorm rages outside, the jedi feels more alone than ever. The list of losses is endless-- Anakin, fallen and left to die on the molten rock, Master Yoda in exile, and so many friends murdered. Obi-Wan imagines he will end his days here alone and forgotten. Visions of lightsabers searing flesh and bone in a wasteland of lava haunt him in the day, and even at night there is no reprieve from the memories. His dreams are filled with the screams of his fallen Padawan as he is forced to relive the moment when he watched him burn. He can hardly recall the time when the blue eyes had been full of warmth and humor. Instead, he remembers only yellow eyes piercing him with anger, hatred, and pain. The visions of the innocent boy running up to him to show him what he’d learned with a bright smile or the scrawny awkward adolescent begging to go with him on missions, have been tainted. They come to him unbidden, though he tries to lock them away. Anakin and Vader exist as two separate creatures, never to be reconciled. His apprentice, his friend, his brother are gone.

 

Drawing a shaky breath, he tries to prevent his control from shattering, but the agony is too great. With a primal wail, he breaks as sobs wrack his frame. The exiled Jedi wishes for just one more moment with his Master, yet he also fears it. It is inconceivable to him that his Master could feel anything except disappointment, shame, and even revulsion. “I’m sorry, Master…” Obi-Wan chokes on the words and swallows the bile rising in his throat.

 

Though he receives no answer, there is a familiar warmth, a tingling at the back of his mind in a place that has been barren for years. The dust at the threshold stirs as he sits up, the gentle touch ruffling his hair like the caress of a hand. Though he looks around the room and sees nothing, he thinks he hears a voice whispering. “Rest now, Obi-wan.” Curling into himself on the threadbare mattress, he falls into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

 

It is months before he feels his master’s presence again. Obi-Wan’s life has become a litany of mundane tasks--furtive trips to the market to buy food, mending the hut, meditations, forcing himself to sleep and eat. Most nights, nightmares still torment him and the Jedi wakes screaming. The fear of discovery prevents him from even short conversations or any human contact. Watching the business dealings at Anchorhead, the families of farmers ushering their children away from stalls at the market and the lovers meeting at Mos Eisley spaceport from afar, his heart is poisoned with envy as they go about their untroubled, simple lives. There is a deep yearning for a moment of contact, just a reassuring touch on the shoulder, a handshake, an exchange of a few words, anything to remind the jedi he is still alive, even if it is a half-life spent hiding from Imperial troops and Jedi hunters.

 

This night is no different as he shuts the door, stretches, and falls into bed, exhausted from performing odd jobs for local farmers and trying to use whatever meagre credits he has earned to purchase enough food to keep him alive. The threadbare blanket, he pulls around himself does little to mitigate the chill of the night, and Obi-Wan prays that the night will grant him a reprieve from the the cold sweats and visions of death.

 

In the dream, he walks the halls of the temple and sunlight streams in the windows. Every detail is just as he remembers it, though his footsteps echo in the empty halls. For a heartbreaking instant, he wonders if this is not reality and everything he experienced before just a horrible nightmare. Drawn by a presence that is incandescent as a newly born star, he walks into the temple gardens. There, resting below a tall tree is his old master, Qui-Gon Jinn. The younger man is paralyzed for a moment, heart racing, throat constricting, unable to speak. Obi-Wan cannot even meet his eyes through the wave of shame that steals his breath and twists his insides. It is only when he feels the hand on his shoulder, large and warm, that he responds at all. “I failed you.”

 

“This was not your fault, Obi-Wan.” The brown eyes are as warm and kind as he remembers when the hand tips his chin up gently, forcing him to meet his master’s gaze.

 

Tears burn his cheeks. “I thought I could keep my promise. I was foolish to think I could train the boy as well as you.”

 

Qui-Gon’s hand moves to cup his cheek, warm and tangible, and he leans into the contact, craving the touch of another human like a new bud seeking the sun.

 

“You didn’t fail, Obi-Wan. You instructed Anakin with patience and wisdom. It was Sidious who turned the boy. We were all blind to his evil.”

 

“Now all is lost.” Obi-Wan shakes his head.

 

“No, Padawan. There is always hope. After the darkest night, the sun still rises.”

 

After a long moment of searching his Padawan’s face, Qui-Gon straightens. “Come, walk with me.”

 

He falls into step beside the taller man, back warmed by the sun. The light is golden and the air is perfumed with flowers from across the galaxy that cover the landscape in vibrant hues.

Closing his eyes and breathing in the crisp, clean air, Qui-Gon is still for long moments. When he speaks, it is with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I always loved the gardens.”

 

Obi-Wan smiles for the first time in ages. “I remember. I would always find you here.” Pausing a moment, he turns to stare at his master. “Master Qui-Gon, How are you here? Is this just a dream? Is any of this real? ”

 

At his words, the surroundings shimmer for an instant. “Indeed it is a dream, but it is also real.” His master smiles kindly, noting the confusion in his old padawan’s eyes.. “It has taken me a long time to learn this power, and I can only manage a few minutes a time.” Already, the background starts to flicker out of focus and fade.

When Obi-Wan is finally able to speak again, his voice is as plaintive as that of a frightened child, “Master--! Please, don’t leave me yet!”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I cannot hold on anymore.” The figure begins to grow transparent, a hand reaching toward his Padawan’s face.

 

Obi-Wan sits bolt upright in his bed, clinging to the sensation of warmth as long as he can in the chill of the room and the lingering sound of his master’s voice whispering. “I have never left you. I am with you. Always.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Qui-Gon appears, Obi-Wan is older, the fine lines around his mouth and the furrows at the corners of his eyes have deepened and his ginger hair is peppered with grey. The sunlight filtering through leaves in the pristine temple gardens has been replaced by factory smoke licking at the neon lights of the lower levels of Coruscant. Walking here is strange without the club patrons and beggars basking in the garish glow of the signs, and the city is quiet without its usual traffic. Drawn to the door of a particular diner, the Jedi enters and searches the room, face lighting up the instant he sees the familiar figure sitting comfortably at a booth. His smile is returned by the larger man. “Do you remember the first time I brought you here?”

 

Obi-Wan nods. “Best jawa juice and the best information in the city.”

 

“You were very skeptical at first. You thought my trust in Dex was misplaced.” Qui-Gon smiles gently.

 

“He helped me a great deal over the years with investigations. He was a great ally.” He chuckles remembering the four arms of the Besalisk hugging him tightly.

 

“Let me get you a cup “ With a wave of his hand, his Master calls a waitress over and orders for Obi-Wan who raises an eyebrow in response. “Is that really necessary, master?”

 

“I thought it might make you more comfortable.” His master shrugs and sips his own drink.

It seems like such a simple thing for him to sit with another person in a diner and drink jawa juice, yet it is much more than Obi-Wan could ever hope for. The sights and smells and tastes are more real in this dream than ever before. “You’ve thought of everything.”

 

Qui-Gon feels his apprentice’s joy at seeing him but also something else-- worry and sadness. When he reaches out to take his apprentice’s hand, Obi-Wan flinches slightly, the sensation welcome but jarring after living so long without human contact. There is a moment of something like...confusion, followed by a deep longing. The older man squeezes his hand gently and brushes the pad of his thumb over the back of it, watching how the Jedi knight’s eyes close and he shivers at the simple touch. “Obi-Wan…?”

 

His Padawan doesn’t speak, though he makes a choked sound and when he opens his eyes, he cannot hide the unshed tears shimmering there. Since he cannot manage a full embrace yet, Qui-Gon allows their surroundings to fade and uses his remaining energy to send Obi-Wan a flood of emotions--pride, compassion, warmth, and love.

 

* * *

 

 

When Obi-Wan sees his old master again, it is after he is trapped in a sandstorm. The Jedi is starting to feel old, tired. He had merely meant to visit young Luke who was turning twelve that day and bring him a birthday gift. Owen had seen him talking to the child and shoved the boy behind his back despite Obi-Wan’s assurances that he only wanted to check on Luke. The stern farmer had threatened to call the local authorities and commanded the Jedi never to come back. Young Luke had stolen glances from his hiding place and looked at the strange man with wide-eyed curiousity. Without a fight, Obi-Wan had given up. As he turned to leave, he had heard Owen tell the child, “Stay away from him. He’s just a crazy old hermit.”

 

Crestfallen, Obi-Wan now wanders aimlessly for some time until he finds himself walking into the Jundland Wastes. When the winds that howl through the canyons like the screams of dying men start to stir the first particles of sand, he hardly registers the feeling of the grit against his face. Luke might be the galaxy’s last hope, but even more than that, he is the last link to Anakin, a poignant reminder of the goodness that had once been in his brother’s heart. Soon the sand flurries are all around him, scratching at his skin, blurring his vision. In his disorientation he stumbles, falls onto a cluster of rocks. Lights dance behind his eyes and there is a sudden jarring pain followed by darkness and silence as his head hits the rock.

 

When he opens his reddened and irritated eyes again, he sees sunlight filtering through the canopy of the trees in the temple garden. His head rests on something soft and a large hand brushes greying ginger hair from his brow. The pain in his head has been replaced by a tingling warmth. When his master’s face comes into focus, he sits up, though his first instinct is to stay there, soaking in every second of comfort he can. “Rest easy, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s hand moves to the side of his face.

 

The younger man blinks his eyes and swallows. His parched throat makes it difficult to speak. Suddenly, a flask of cool, clear water is held to his lips and he drinks greedily. When the flask is lowered, he asks. “Am I..dead?”

 

“No, Obi-Wan. You’re very much alive but unconscious. We don’t have much time.” His brow furrows in worry.

 

“What if I choose not to go back. Could I stay here with you?” Obi-Wan leans against the tree, shoulder touching his old master’s.

 

Qui-Gon watches him a long time with an unreadable expression. “If you choose to stay, I will not interfere.”

 

Obi-Wan smiles at the thought of finding peace in this perfect dream world, of lying underneath this tree in this man’s arms. He could be safe here. No more running or hiding. “What will happen if I decide to stay?”

 

Qui-Gon takes a deep breath and his expression is full of sadness and compassion. “You will be covered by the sand and die.”

 

“But if I die..then who will watch over Anakin’s son?” The blue eyes flash with a sudden guilt.

 

“The future is always in motion. It’s difficult to sense even for those who have become one with the force.” He wraps his arm around his former padawan’s shoulders, wishing he could ease the burden, spare him the trials he knows are still ahead of him.

The younger Jedi leans against him and closes his eyes. “I have to go back.” It is a statement filled with regret and bitterness. The expression in his master’s eyes is both proud and mournful. “You have never been one to choose the easy path.” The older man leans down and presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead.

 

Warmth enters Obi-Wan’s cheeks at the closeness and his lips graze the other man’s cheek, stopping just short of his lips. He draws back a sliver so their faces are inches apart and they simply breathe together, hearts racing until Obi-Wan turns away, fearing he will see rejection in his mentor’s eyes.

 

“I’m sorry..I shouldn’t have..”

 

There is a hand on his shoulder, then he feels himself shifted into Qui-Gon’s lap where gazing into the warm brown eyes, he sees only love.

 

“Our time is almost up.” Qui-Gon closes the distance and kisses him, putting all the passion and love he has felt for so long into the kiss. Obi-Wan’s lips soon part for him and his hands wander up his master’s broad shoulders and back to tangle in his hair. Even the scratch of his beard against his cheek is welcome after living so long without the touch of another. The tall Jedi’s hands are warm at the small of his back and his lips are soft and inviting against his own, still cracked and dry. The younger man is breathless and still feels like he can never kiss this man enough, though he is clumsy and almost frantic. The last thing he wants to do is to leave, but he senses their surroundings starting to disappear, a sign he is waking up. He leans up for one last kiss as the world falls away.

 

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan can’t sleep and, in fact, hasn’t slept in several nights. The kiss under the tree only brought to mind other memories--watching his master train, the roll and flex of his muscles as he lifted the saber. The scent of damp earth and musk that always clung to the tall Jedi seemed to surround him in the tiny bedroom. He has felt desire for a long time, he realizes, but more than that, he has loved him. At some point, they ceased to be just master and padawan and became soulmates. Before they had even been able to put a name to the change in their relationship, before they had even shared a kiss or an embrace, the newly formed bond had been severed, and it had taken years to restore it.

 

His hand absently skims his neck and across his chest, and for a moment, he imagines it is his master’s large, slightly callused hand caressing him. He shivers and rolls to his side, suppressing a groan of frustration. His body is responding to the thoughts in an infuriating manner, begging for release. Every muscle is tense, every inch of skin seems to tingle with electricity.

 

Then, the air changes, and though he doesn’t see him, he feels the familiar presence. There is the feeling of a warm wind like hot breath against his ear and a soft chuckle, a warmth at his lips, the essence of a kiss, if not a real one. The kisses continue across his jaw, behind his ear, and down his neck to his collarbone. The slight abrasiveness of a beard is soothed by the warmth and softness of his ghostly lover’s lips. The younger man arches towards the contact with a quiet moan.

 

A deep, rich voice that is both strong and silken whispers, “Do you want this?”

 

“Yes...please, but..I want to touch you.” His hand reaches up and falls back to the bed as he feels only a faint warmth above him.

 

The touches stop for a moment. “Later perhaps. Let me grant you this for now until I have the power for more.”

 

There is a faint pressure at his chest, urging him to lie back on the bed and the kisses and caresses resume, moving down to his chest. As if stirred by a wind, his tunics shift, parting so the warm, broad invisible hands can explore the lean muscles. The jedi stretches, body searching for friction to relieve the growing pressure. He whimpers when the warmth is replaced by the scratch of a beard and the wetness of lips teasing rosy nubs.

 

Though he cannot see the tall man, he can feel the sensation of weight pressing pleasantly against him, causing a shift in the threadbare mattress. Their bond is open, all remaining shields have fallen away, and Obi-Wan could happily drown in the waves of love and passion flowing over him.

 

He tenses when the hands wander lower to stroke his stomach which is starting to develop a layer of soft padding. The sensation of lips circling his belly button is followed by a whisper at his ear. “You’re perfect to me. Every inch of you.”

 

The exiled Jedi is not granted release until every part of him is worshipped, but when at last the ghostly hand wraps around his arousal, he is nearly boneless already. He gasps and cries out, meeting the movements of his master’s hand with thrusts of his hips, until he reaches his peak with a violent shiver. He is kissed one last time as his body still trembles from small aftershocks. All the tension drains from his limbs, and the spirit whispers, “I love you, Obi-Wan,” as his master fades, leaving him warm and sated and finally able to sleep.


End file.
